Forgiveness
by kalirush
Summary: In the Year that Never Was, the Doctor sits with Jack as he dies.


"I'm so sorry," the Doctor said helplessly, his voice shaking. He reached an aged, wrinkled hand up and grabbed the edge of the tent frame, using it as support to lever himself up to his feet.

"Well then, I forgive you," Jack said, his voice hoarse and too quiet. "That's what someone in my position is supposed to do, right?" His eyes, for all their pain, were twinkling as he looked down on the Doctor, and his mouth quirked up on one side in a half-smile; laughing at his own joke.

It had pleased the Master, earlier in the day, to crucify Jack. He'd bored of killing his pet freak in quick and messy ways (culminating in a huge mural he'd had painted out of Jack's blood, bleeding him to death again every time the artists needed more paint), and he had graduated to ever more slow and painful deaths.

Today, he'd made the Jones family carry the big wooden cross through the Valiant from the helipad into the control room, and he'd made them personally stake Jack to the cross. Evidently, someone had given the Master a Bible, and he'd wanted to reenact the good bits.

Huge metal spikes pinned Jack against the rough wood, thrust through his wrists and ankles. The Master'd put some through his hands, too, just for the hell of it. Then he'd crowned Jack with razor wire and laughed. Finally, he'd sent the Jones family back to their cell, and had left his two favorite pets alone for the night.

The blood had run thick from the shallow wounds in Jack's scalp. Trails of red-brown ran over his face and eyes, down over his collarbone, and collected above his sternum before spattering unevenly over his naked chest. His wrists and ankles were so much bloody meat- made continuously worse by Jack's need to push himself up to get air. Jack had been in this position for hours already, and the Doctor estimated that he probably had another couple hours to go before he no longer had the strength to keep himself from suffocating under the weight of his own body.

The Doctor decided he was done watching this. He gritted his teeth and shambled towards Jack, reaching up towards his trapped and mutilated wrists.

All trace of humor left Jack's face. "No," he snapped, through clenched teeth. _"Stay back."_

The force of Jack's words stopped the Doctor cold. He hesitated. "If you free me," continued Jack, gasping for breath, "He'll punish you. I'm expendable, Doctor- I'll get better. You might not. We need you. We all need you."

The Doctor turned away, steadying himself against the table. A tear trickled down his cheek, and- irrationally- he didn't want Jack to see it. The inability of this body to rule itself frustrated him.

He'd really only been old once before. In the days before, it seemed that most Time Lords were elderly most of the time. They were conserving their lives, wringing every last drop of time out of every regeneration. The Doctor, however, had managed to die young ever since he left Gallifrey so many, many years ago, and this forced dotage did not suit him.

Jack rolled his head around as if working a kink out of his neck. "The frustrating thing about being in this position is, even if I just give up and suffocate- which is among my least favorite ways to die, just for the record- I'll come back still pinned up here, and it'll start all over again."

The Doctor snorted. "Are you a connoisseur of deaths now?"

"I've had the experience. More than you, anyhow." Jack grinned down at him.

"You've got me there, I guess. Strange. By most people's standards, I'd be an expert in dying."

"Yeah, well, how many times have you died? A dozen at most. Amateur." Jack laughed weakly.

"Nine, as it happens. From-" the Doctor thought a moment, ticking them off on his fingers. "-Old age, execution, radiation poisoning, falling, poison, a crash landing, gunshot... genocide, I guess. Can you die of genocide? And then, absorbing the Vortex. You've never died of old age, anyway, so that's one I have up on you."

"Fair enough," Jack gasped. He grimaced, and struggled to push himself up far enough to get his next breath. He was using the only leverage he had- the spikes that ran through his ankles and wrists. The Doctor could hear bones grinding as Jack shoved his own flesh cruelly against the metal.

"Jack..." whispered the Doctor.

"What are you gonna say, Doc?" Jack asked through clenched teeth. "You could always stop watching. I promise not to make too much noise." The side of his mouth quirked upward again. "Besides, you need your rest. You're an old man."

"I am, at that. 900 years old- you may have me on deaths, but by my standards, you're barely a teenager. But I'll stay with you, unless you want me to leave." The Doctor didn't look at Jack.

Jack looked down at the Doctor, amused. "Well, that makes a change," he said, his voice heavy with irony. The Doctor winced, visibly, but said nothing. "Doctor-" Jack continued, "the Master is doing this for your sake. He could care less about me. You don't have to let him torment you- go back to bed, and let me be. It's alright. I don't blame you for this."

The Doctor shuffled to his feet and moved closer to Jack. He reached up, laying one hand on Jack's naked, bloodied chest. It felt blissfully cool and clean on Jack's fevered skin. "Why did you spend all that time looking for me, Jack? You're right. I left you behind. It was unforgivable. So, why make so much effort to find me again?"

Jack leaned into the Doctor's touch. He was silent for a long moment, eyes shut. "I don't know," he whispered. "It was all I thought about, when I saw you fading away. Get back- find them again." He paused, gasping for air. "The Doctor and Rose and the TARDIS. But now, Rose is gone, and that bastard's chopped up the TARDIS, and I find out that you left me behind on purpose." He stopped, and closed his eyes again.

The Doctor slid his hand up Jack's neck- still sticky with half-dried blood- and came to rest on his face, against his cheek and jaw. Jack's chest heaved again with the effort of drawing breath, and he spoke.

"I was angry, for a while. Sometimes, I hoped you could explain it or fix it." He licked his bloody lips. "Mostly, Doctor, I just wanted to understand- what happened to me? And why did you leave me? But I suppose I know that, now." Jack turned his head away.

The Doctor pulled his hand back, shaking. "I was dying," he said, quietly. "I wasn't in control of myself. Rose wanted to go back for you, but I refused- I lied to her about you. She never knew you'd died. Not for certain."

"Doctor-" Jack said.

"Later on, I thought about going back, but I couldn't face admitting to Rose what I'd done to you. And after that, I couldn't face explaining it to you." The Doctor turned around, staring into space. "Coward, every time," he whispered. "Even now."

There was a long silence between the two men, disturbed only by the sounds of Jack's ever-more difficult breathing. Finally, the Doctor reached up to Jack's wrist again. "Jack," he said, gently. "I'm going to try to let you down. I don't know if I'm strong enough to pull these out, but I'm going to give it a go now."

"No, Doctor," Jack said, almost inaudibly. His voice was choked and filled with a liquid rasp. "I think I'm done for a while now. Leave me be." His body shuddered, and sagged. "I do forgive you, Doctor," he whispered.

Tears fell unbidden down the Doctor's wrinked cheeks. He laid a hand on Jack's chest. "I'll see you soon, Jack," he said. "I'll be waiting."


End file.
